


The Nearness of You

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [7]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Torture, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Non-Binary Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Healthy Coping Mechanisms, Hurt/Comfort, Identity, Implied/Referenced Torture, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Other, Rescue Missions, a few murders but who am i to stop peter when hes that sexy with a knife, this looks bad but it's like ninety percent comfort, this one is a bit heavy folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:29:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26471911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: “He’s in here, boss,” goon growled. Nureyev wanted to tighten his grip on his knife, but he knew his current face, the so-called boss whose stolen uniform he wore, would have no cause to do such a thing.Nureyev stepped through the open door that gaped like some dark, hungry maw of a giant and unseen creature. There was a light somewhere in the ceiling but it flickered, its last fiery bursts of energy whining as it tried and tried again to cast a glow onto the battered face of Juno Steel.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921492
Comments: 40
Kudos: 205





	The Nearness of You

**Author's Note:**

> One of my free (currently closed but reopening soon rip) commissions for an anon on tumblr!
> 
> i wrote this immediately after taking a math test. i had to get it out of my system. also heads up, no actual injuries are sustained by protagonists during the story, but their aftermath (physical and mental) is definitely discussed. do what you have to do to stay safe folks. i love you all <3
> 
> Content warnings for the immediate aftermath of torture, injuries, blood, minor gore, minor head trauma, some emotional trauma, goon murder, knives, past kidnapping, concussion

For Peter Nureyev, putting on a mask was as easy as applying the face. He supposed it was applying a face, in some form or another. When he was younger and far more paranoid about illusion, every facial tic and quirk of the eyebrow was practiced. He recalled once standing in front of a mirror and memorizing the crooked way a crooked alias would smile. 

Over time, he learned that such details led to slowness, and slowness made one prone to injury, or even loss of life. He was glad he had long since made that deduction when the current mission, an unexpected distraction, had arisen to sink its icy claws into him and threaten his focus. 

“Show me to the prisoner,” he ordered in a voice that was his and not his all at once. The applied face, one stone cold, with a taut voice and rigid manner, barked out the words. The face beneath wanted to contort and worry at a lip, but Nureyev let his mask take the lead.

The goons flanking him, whose deaths Nureyev had already mapped out like cuts of meat upon a pig, nodded and led the way. 

“He’s in here, boss,” one of them growled. Nureyev wanted to tighten his grip on his knife, but he knew his current face, the so-called boss whose stolen uniform he wore, would have no cause to do such a thing. 

Nureyev stepped through the open door that gaped like some dark, hungry maw of a giant and unseen creature. There was a light somewhere in the ceiling but it flickered, its last fiery bursts of energy whining as it tried and tried again to cast a glow onto the battered face of Juno Steel. 

Peter wanted to rush to his side and check him over for injuries and squeeze circulation back into his hands and tell him he was safe and loved and soon to be rescued, but the man whose uniform he wore would do no such thing. Rather, that man was here and armed with the intention of killing the lady tied to the chair and scraping himself off the floor of unconsciousness. 

Instead, he blinked thrice, quick and purposeful. It wasn’t the most established or codes, but a wave of some horrible, contorted expression that pretended not to be hope passed over Juno’s face, and Nureyev assumed he knew exactly which three words those blinks meant. 

“Gentlemen,” he began. The mask’s voice was too cold to waver. “I would prefer it if you left me alone with the prisoner.” 

“No can do,” one goon shrugged. “Higher ups said nobody goes anywhere alone while the cameras are still out.” 

Nureyev narrowed his eyes. 

“At least shut the door, then. I’m sure the entire east wing has heard enough of his screaming already,” he forced himself to sneer. Deep below the layers of stolen clothing and cautiously arranged expression, Nureyev felt something in his chest clutch in protest while the backs of his eyes burned. 

When one goon turned to close the door, Nureyev had no trouble sinking his blade into the other’s neck. Neither had time to do more than let out a guttural, dying gasp that oozed into the room and left a residue somewhere unseen in the shadow. 

Nureyev knew there was blood splattered across his face. He could feel it crawling along the side of his cheek like some kind of squirming insect. He even felt one droplet slithering out of his hair.

That was the last thing on his mind as he rushed over to Juno’s side, burying the blade of the knife between his wrists and sawing away until the rope tore apart into bloodstained tendrils, hardly different from the rent throats of the guards. He appreciated that the ropes had spared his ears from hearing one more dying gurgle, and merely split apart with a wheezed rasp. 

“We’re getting you out of here,” he breathed as the knife found its way back to its sheath and his twitching hands, slick with blood and sweat, found their way up to Juno’s head. 

When it didn’t raise of its own accord, he traced one index finger along Juno’s chin and just barely tipped it upwards. The light sputtered again. Nureyev felt embarrassment jolt through his chest when he lurched away at the sight of Juno’s face. 

His eye was half open, as hopeless as it was a million miles away. The other, an empty socket, was barely a sliver beneath a dark, angry storm cloud of a bruise. Once the shock of the sight drained away, all Nureyev could help but think was how lucky Juno was to still be breathing. Though the red smear along his jawline was Nureyev’s work, Peter knew well he hadn’t accounted for the blackened eye or split lip, and he felt some horrible, unrestrainable creature within his chest rear its head back in fury. 

“Juno,” he started again. Juno managed a weak nod. 

“Right here,” he mumbled, so soft Nureyev barely heard it. 

“Are you still with me?” Nureyev asked, reaching to give Juno’s hand a faint squeeze. 

“Yeah,” Juno winced. He pulled his hand away, and when the light sputtered above them once more, Nureyev’s stomach lurched at the mangled mass of gore he had just attempted to press his hand to. 

“Dear God,” he breathed. 

“Just get me the hell out of here.” 

“What’s hurt?” Peter began as he prepared to take his partner into his arms. 

Nureyev hoped, perhaps, to avoid putting any pressure on those injuries the light had yet to reveal. He felt blood seeping through the leg of Juno’s pants and gave a sympathetic wince, though Juno seemed too tired to do more than breathe out a faint groan. 

“Everything,” Juno grumbled. 

The last time Nureyev had carried him somewhere like this, they were christening their new cabin, which was just Juno’s old cabin with the closet reorganized to fit clothing for two. Juno laughed and pretended to hate it, despite a grin he couldn’t wipe off his face if he tried. Nureyev hadn’t worn a mask that day. None of his aliases were lucky enough to have moved in with Juno Steel, and he supposed that was the kind of once in a lifetime miracle that was so statistically improbable that it seemed none of his aliases should enjoy it. As much as Juno liked Duke Rose, Nureyev preferred to keep his Dahlia for himself. 

He wore a mask when he pried Juno away from that stiff metal chair and lifted him into his arms like a rag doll. He feared if he didn’t, the hot coal of unshed tears choking the back of his throat might rear its ugly head. 

“You may cut the lights now. He’s with me,” an alias that sounded less scared than Nureyev said. 

“What condition is he in?” Buddy asked through comms that felt like a single strand of spider silk connecting him to a ship a million miles away. 

“Bad,” someone who was definitely Peter Nureyev choked back. 

“Bring him home safely, darling.”

Nureyev knew she couldn’t hear his nod, though he wasn’t particularly in the headspace to process that. Instead, he held Juno as close as his already aching arms could manage and began to make his way towards the exit. 

“Nureyev,” Juno slurred into his shoulder. “I think I can walk, if you need me to.”

“I’m not going to make you do that, dearest,” Peter returned, counting steps to the exit, as if that would make them pass any quicker. 

“I don’t think you’re bleeding as much as I—“ Juno trailed off with a puzzled look. “Something like that.” 

“Did anything happen to your head?” Nureyev asked as he ducked around the corner and into the false atmosphere of the dome once more. He felt his chest clench in thanks for the blanket of dark, for it seemed they had not been followed into the alleyway in which he chose to rest. 

“A lot happened to my head,” Juno grimaced when Peter laid him up against the wall. Even as careful as Nureyev had been, his knees crumpled. 

“Easy, darling,” Nureyev murmured, though his words came punched out when he caught Juno. “Just a few more minutes, and Jet should be here.” 

Juno nodded, not quite meeting Nureyev’s eye. 

“I love you too,” he murmured. 

“What?” 

“You said it earlier—I mean, I think you did, you were kinda spinning. A lot,” Juno tried to explain. “Back in the room, or whatever.” 

Nureyev pressed a kiss to his forehead. He didn’t particularly care that someone else’s blood had tinted his lips in a thick, smeared rouge. Juno didn’t seem to care either. 

“I’m just glad you’re alright.” 

. . . 

“Juno, darling, if you don’t sit down at some point, I’m going to have to get Vespa involved,” Nureyev said from his seat upon the bed, cocooned in a robe that was definitely his and a pair of sweatpants that were definitely Juno’s. 

“Am I doing it again?” Juno asked, the executioner’s march of his pacing coming to a sudden, mid-measure halt. 

“Oh, my darling,” Peter sighed. He hated the way pity drowned his voice. “I’d just hate for you to rip your stitches, that’s all. You’ve had quite the week already, and I think it would be best if you tried to get that sleep the doctor ordered.” 

Juno didn’t move, heavily bandaged hands still wringing and eye a million miles away, even if it looked like he was staring down some unseen threat buried into the nearest wall. 

“Juno?” Nureyev called. He had been making an active effort to keep his aliases buried far away in conversation with Juno, though he wished he had one now to cover how small his voice had become. 

“Still here,” Juno muttered, as absentminded as he would have been if Nureyev interrupted him partway through a particularly good book. 

Nureyev stood and paced over, surprising even himself at the sound of his footsteps. They never grew carelessly audible unless he was truly comfortable somewhere, and even then, remained near-silent. He was shocked to have heard them at all, but supposed that was an issue to consider later. For the time being, he walked to Juno’s side, just behind where he stood and stared in the direction of the gaping, unshuttered window. 

“May I hold you?” He asked in a voice that was almost a whisper, but was most certainly the voice of Peter Nureyev. 

Juno nodded. 

“Just let me turn around first,” he said, then turned, then cracked his stony expression into a weak smile. 

“There you are, my love,” Nureyev returned in kind. 

He reached to pull Juno into a feather-light hug, more a brushing of grounding skin than an embrace. Juno got there first and seized him into something equal parts rib-cracking and sweet. He must have squeezed a laugh from Nureyev’s chest in the process, for Peter could not remember bringing it forth of his own accord. 

“Love you,” Juno murmured against his chest. Nureyev kissed the top of his head. 

“Come to bed,” Nureyev said into his hair, and felt a nod in response. 

“You always were a flirt,” Juno managed to joke. 

Nureyev opened and closed his mouth several times in feigned indignance. While Juno couldn’t see such a thing, Peter assumed they had known each other long enough for him to guess his expression, for he felt Juno muffle a chuckle into his robe. 

“Here, let’s get you off that injured leg of yours, shall we?” Peter said, and swept Juno off his feet like a newlywed groom in a cheesy movie. 

“Sap.” 

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. You’ve undone me, you brute,” Nureyev joked as he returned to his still-dented half of the mattress, Juno in his arms all the while. 

There was as comfortable a pause as the two could manage between a thousand painful things unsaid and even more likely clawing at Juno from beneath his smattering of bandages. Nureyev had fussed over the upkeep of every single one, while Juno had complained that he was mothering him, both, in their own way, expressing simultaneous love and terror. 

Nureyev let Juno get as comfortable as his bandaging would allow, waiting until he had arranged and rearranged his arms to return the tangled, desperate embrace with a loose hug, just in case a wound should begin to ache or throb or itch. 

“Hey,” Juno finally began from somewhere against Nureyev’s chest. 

“Yes, my love?” 

“Thank you.” 

Nureyev leaned his head down just enough to press a kiss to Juno’s arm, for it was the closest part of him he could reach without any serious rearranging. He felt Juno squeezed his shoulder appreciatively. 

“It’s the least I can do, darling,” Nureyev sighed. “If I’m being wholly honest, I abhor that I can’t fix this for you. I’ve lived my life in constant motion, so do forgive me if I’ve been a bit on edge with nothing in particular that I can do.” 

“You can do this,” Juno returned. 

“Beg pardon?” 

“Just being here,” Juno sighed. “Something to hold onto to remind me I’m still here.”

“I’ll keep doing that, then,” Nureyev tried to smile. “Do you want to talk about anything?” 

“No. Just wanna be with you.” 

Nureyev started to pull him into a tighter hug, but Juno got there first. 

“I won’t go anywhere, then,” Peter replied. 

“Will you talk about something?” Juno requested. From the sound of it, his evening round of pain medications were beginning to knock him out. Nureyev didn’t doubt his voice would take him the rest of the way under.

“What would you like to hear about, my love?” 

“I dunno,” Juno murmured. “Something nice.” 

“You know, Juno, I used to think the spaceport of Ratatosk was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen,” he began. “I think you’d love it. It’s clean, but not in an unfriendly way, and every walking path is an incredible mosaic when viewed from a spacecraft above.” 

“What do you mean you used to think that?” 

“You didn’t let me finish,” Nureyev smiled and pretended to be aghast. “I thought it was the most beautiful place I’d ever seen until I got to Mars.” 

He heard something from his chest-area that might have been the sleepiest version of Juno’s signature affectionate groan yet. 

“You’re an idiot.” 

Nureyev just laughed. 

He was halfway through a story about an elaborate museum heist on Ratatosk when he felt Juno go slack, the gentle tug of medicinal sleep winning him over. Only then did Nureyev twist around in his arms to kiss his forehead and pull him closer, if only for a moment. 

Perhaps Juno was right. There was a certain comfort in the grounding surety that someone was at your side. He intended to keep Juno that way for as long as the evening would allow. 

Tomorrow would come, as would responsibilities and post-ops and the terrible need to get out of bed, but it was not tomorrow yet. For the time being, he took the lady who held his heart in broken hands into his arms and clutched him as close as he could. Juno was alive, and real, and safe. That was what mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> im so fuckign touch starved man. just. need hug. hope you all stayed safe and enjoyed that one <3
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or I'll sing the macarena in your general direction
> 
> find me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !!


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